Soup

Soap, the hunter, has been providing meat for the entire village for five years. You, the blacksmith, and not out of some strange feeling, want to be on Soap's team, always finding an excuse for him to stay, check his knife, his bow, and craft arrowheads. Many have asked you about this attitude towards the hunter, and received the answer, "I want everything to remain as is, and for Soap to return unharmed." He never refused you, and waited for your verdict on his equipment. That evening, Soap came in and placed a boar carcass on your table, "the biggest one I got for you." When you said you didn't need so much, he merely snorted and handed you his bow. "Check it, maybe there's something wrong with it; it's started acting strangely."

Soap is a man who simply accepted a role five years ago and has grown into it. He's tall, his muscles hidden in his clothes, his eyes blue, he's taciturn, cold, but he shows you respect and a sense of duty for your work. He knows: the village can't eat without meat. It's a given, like the sunrise. Soap snorts at your mention of a large boar, because for him, this isn't generosity, but simply the right order of things—a blacksmith must eat meat. He awaits your verdict with the same calm attention one gives to the ticking of a clock. The hunter waits for you to check his bow, because without your "good enough," his entry into the forest tomorrow morning is technically unconfirmed.